


Touchless

by Anonymous



Category: The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, M/M, Smut, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:55:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24119884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Howard hates being touched. Vince finally gets the message. Howard hates not being touched.
Relationships: Howard Moon/Vince Noir
Comments: 4
Kudos: 40
Collections: Anonymous





	Touchless

It's funny how a night can change on a dime. One minute you're sitting on the couch, watching another historical documentary about beekeeping in Czechoslovakia, the next you're being saved by your hyperactive partner in crime from a psychopathic cockney. Or a merman who is just this side of too friendly. Or a large woman who has mistaken you for a gigolo. Etcetera, etcetera. Such is the life of Howard Moon; jazz maverick and poet extraordinaire. 

On the other hand, sometimes the changes are slightly more… 'mundane' is the wrong word. As is 'normal'. But they are closer to the hallmark moments one would see in a romantic comedy starring Hugh Grant, rather than a modern-day  _ Labyrinth _ . 

The thing about these moments, is that there is no way to see them coming. 

And so, Howard Moon, unaware of the shift his life is about to take, sits comfortably on the couch in the little flat above the shop in Camden he shares with two potheads and his best friend, engrossed in the on-screen discussion of the politics behind the Czech Beekeepers Union. He enjoys blissful ignorance of the future as Vince Noir, his glittery companion, flounces up the staircase from the bottom floor and spins on his heels towards the kitchen.

"Alright, Howard?" Vince asks, opening the fridge and pulling out bread and butter. 

"Alright, Vince," Howard replies in a dismissive mumble, trying to focus on his documentary. 

"You wouldn't  _ believe  _ what happened at The Velvet Onion tonight," Vince says. 

"Mhm."

"Bob Fossil booked Kraftwerk Orange. 'Member them girls what stabbed us up at the zoo? They're touring with Mister Rogers now!"

"Mister Who?"

"Y'know, the cobra!" Vince says, flopping down on the couch with a plate of fairy bread, sprinkles falling all over the place and mingling with the glitter from his coat. He tucks his feet underneath him and takes a bite.

"Shoes off the couch, Vince," Howard says automatically without glancing towards his friend. Vince pouts and wrestles his boots from his feet with one hand, bread hanging from his mouth and other hand busy with the plate. His mismatched socks disappear with his feet underneath him again. 

"Anyway, it got me thinkin'," he says through his mouthful. "About the zoo."

"Vince, I'm trying to watch this," Howard grumbles, gesturing at the telly. 

"I miss the keepers hut," Vincesays, either ignoring Howard or possibly not even having heard him in the first place. "I miss the sleepovers we used to have on the floor."

Howard sighs and pauses the film, resigning himself to the conversation. 

"We sleep in the same room every night."

"Yeah, but it ain't the same," Vince whines. "You're  _ all the way  _ across the room. That's so far!"

As if to prove his point, Vince reaches over to brush his hand over Howard's shoulder, but he flinches away immediately.

"Don't touch me!" 

"See what I mean?" Vince says, sitting back against the arm of the couch. "You can barely stand me sitting here, can you? We used to be so much closer at the zoo!"

"I've never liked being touched, you know that," Howard says, shuffling further away from Vince. "Doesn't matter if we're at the zoo, if we're at the shop, if we're on the moon! I don't like being touched!"

"I don't reckon the Moon would like us being up there either, though," Vince says. "But alright." He settles back into his seat, pulls his phone out to scroll through some app or another, and resumes munching on his fairy bread. Howard stares at him for a moment, confused by how easily he gave up, but decides it's best to let Vince drop the subject and presses play on his documentary. 

\----

The thing is, Vince is always trying to touch Howard. Little brushes of a hand against his back as Vince squeezes past him behind the shop counter, a spontaneous hug that takes him by surprise after a particularly harrowing adventure. There's always some excuse Vince will take - or make up - to get some precious bodily contact with Howard. Usually this results in a quick "don't touch me" from Howard and a dismissive giggle from Vince. 

But in the days following their Zoo Talk, as Howard has come to think of it, Vince hasn't taken a single opportunity to touch him. To begin with, Howard was happy. Finally, Vince is listening to his wishes. But as the hours and days draw on, Howard finds himself getting agitated. He writes it off as a discomfort with change, but something deep down, something very quiet but very persistent, tells him there's another reason he's upset about the whole situation. 

As usual, it takes someone being a bit too handsy for Howard to truly realise his feelings. 

They're on one of their rare outings that doesn't involve a performance by The Mighty Boosh. They're at The Velvet Onion, because it's the only bar the two can agree on, since Howard will only go there or to one of the few jazz clubs in the area, and Vince usually prefers more intense clubbing. He's off in the crowd, drinking a flowery drink with a little umbrella in the glass and dancing with a fluidity that often (read: always) eludes Howard.

Howard himself is sitting at the bar, nursing a glass of cheap whiskey on the rocks, watching as Vince enjoys himself. A small smile plays at the corner of his mouth, under that shaggy wig he calls a moustache. Small shrimp eyes dart around the crowd, ostensibly looking to find the nonexistent stationary girl of his dreams, but they are quickly drawn back to the shining form of Vince and his wide grin. Howard lets himself watch Vince dance for a while, telling himself it's research to hone his own moves. 

A soft touch on his arm jerks him from his focus, and he instinctively wrenches it away from the feeling. He whips his head around, and locks eyes with a tall man standing over him with thick brown hair and an impressive moustache. Howard struggles not to feel inferior looking at him.

"Hey," the man says loudly over the din of the club. "You know that bloke?"

Howard follows the man's gesture and his gaze lands on Vince. 

"Uh, yeah," he says, mouth a little dry. He swallows. "Yeah, he's my mate." 

"Reckon you could introduce us?" The man asks, grinning. "The name's George."

Howard's mind slows down time as he considers the ramifications of completing such a request. He knows that Vince is perfectly happy to spend his time with men or women, as he's had the misfortune of being locked out of their shared room for the benefit of both. He also knows that he has a pretty disgusting feeling in his gut at the thought of it happening again, especially with this George in front of him. The cogs turn in his brain, and he considers that George is very much not the kind of man Vince would usually go for, but the voice at the back of his mind is quick to supply that he's still a very good looking man and Vince is rarely particularly picky. 

The decision of whether to introduce them is taken out of his hands, however, as the bird-man in question appears at his elbow. 

"Howard, you gotta come dance!" He shouts over the music, placing his empty glass on the bar behind Howard. The bartender immediately begins mixing him a new colourful concoction without prompting. 

"Uh," Howard says.

"Hi," George says, holding out a hand. "I'm George."

"Alright?" Vince replies, grabbing the offered hand and giggling when George kisses his knuckles. "I'm Vince!"

"I'm not sure your friend here is that into dancing," George says, and it pisses Howard off an unreasonable amount. "Maybe I could take his place?"

Vince looks at Howard, and Howard has no idea what's written on his face. He's feeling a lot of things, none of them very good or friendly, but apparently Vince doesn't find anything disapproving in his expression, because he turns a smile onto George.

"Sure," he says. "Let's do it!"

George grabs Vince's drink and hands it to him, and Vince leads him back out to the dance floor.

Howard looks down into his drink and considers it for a long moment. He knows he doesn't like to dance, at least not when he isn't performing or at jazzercise, but he has a twisting feeling in his abdomen that doesn't seem to want to abate no matter how much Howard tries to drown it with whiskey. He sneaks a glance at Vince, and the feeling tightens as he watches that huge, classically handsome in a way Howard only wishes he was, man pull Vince flush against his own body. Vince has a sly grin on his face, looking up at George through his eyelashes, and even Howard can tell that Vince is flirting. The movement of their hips is rhythmic, borderline obscene in time with the music.

It clicks in Howard's mind that the feeling he has is jealousy, and the knowledge fans it into anger. He downs his drink, slams the glass a little too hard on the bar, and pushes off his chair to stalk out of the club.

\----

The door to the shop slams as Howard begins his stomping ascent of the stairs. He's not drunk, and that's a problem, but he's too confused and frustrated to keep drinking. He stands at the top of the stairs, breathing heavily from the brisk walk home, and grits his teeth. He fights the urge for as long as he can, but he can't help gripping his left arm and twisting the skin until it burns. It doesn't help.

He lets out a sound that's a mixture of a growl, a groan, and a sigh, and makes his way deeper into the apartment. He isn't even thinking and doesn't realise he's curled himself up into Vince's bed until the blanket settles over his head and he's overwhelmed by the smell of his friend. 

There's too much going on in his head, his heart, and his belly, and eventually it all overflows and the tears begin to fall. He thinks vaguely about the strange feeling of tears rolling over the bridge of his nose and down towards his ear as he sniffles and gets a nose full of Vince's scent. 

It's ironic to him that he's spent so many years trying to avoid touch, especially from Vince, and now that he has achieved his goal, the thing he wants more than anything is a hug from his favourite little man. The thought brings back the fresh image of Vince pressed up against George, pelvis flush against his upper thighs and the expanse of the man almost drowning Vince as he towers over him. Vince looked so small, but so powerful pushing himself against George. Like everything was on  _ his  _ terms, and if this stranger put one toe out of line he'd shut the whole thing down. Howard squeezes his eyes shut tighter, forcing more tears to spill out, and takes a shake breath. 

\----

He has no idea how long it's been when a dip in the foot of the bed wakes him. He balks at the feeling of dried tears on his face, and the small wet patch he left on the pillow. Confused, he pulls the blanket down from over his head, and opens his eyes. 

"Howard?" The figure sitting at the end of the bed asks in Vince's voice. "You alright? You didn't say anything and when I came to check on you, you were gone."

"I'm alright, Little Man," Howard lies, his voice croaky, as he recalls why he cried himself to sleep in the first place.

"What are you doing in my bed?" Vince asks, reaching over to turn the lamp on the beside table on. He looks at Howard with undisguised concern. 

"I, uh…" Howard can't think of a lie, and the silence begins to drag on. Mercifully, Vince doesn't pressure him for an answer, but his worried gaze makes Howard feel like a scumbag for his jealousy. "I was drunk, and I forgot which bed was mine."

Vince screws his face up with distrust, and glances at the pillow where Howard knows the dark shadow of his tears is betraying him. 

"You don't gotta tell me what's wrong, Howard," Vince says. "But you know I'm here for you."

The soft pressure of Vince's hand on Howard's ankle sends electricity up his leg, even through the duvet. Vince catches himself and takes his hand away quickly, but the damage is done and Howard can't stop the tears from welling up in his eyes again. 

"Oh, shit," Vince swears, shuffling further away from Howard on the bed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"Please," Howard whispers, eyes closed tight and hands balled up against the blanket as he sits up. "I... need a hug." 

The words hang in the air for just long enough for Howard to think that Vince either didn't hear, or doesn't want to do it before he feels the mattress shift and two long, thin arms wrap around his shoulders. Howard lets out a sob and lifts his hands to grip Vince's shoulders tightly, burying his head into the shoulder in front of him and feeling Vince's soft hair tickle his face. He can't stop crying now, it's coming in waves and he chokes out half-aborted apologies as he clings to Vince like he's a life preserver in a tumultuous ocean. 

It takes a few minutes before he's aware of Vince softly shushing him and running his hands over his back, his neck, through his hair. It takes a few more before he regains enough control to stop hiccoughing and relax his grip a little. But he's not ready to let go just yet. 

They sit like that for a while, a suspended moment in time like a snapshot photograph that Howard is loathe to look away from. Until Vince pulls away.

He keeps his hands on Howard, one on his shoulder and the other brushing wispy (and damp) hair from his face.

"Hey," he says softly. "It's okay. I'm here."

"I'm sorry," Howard says, looking down in shame. Vince tsks and tips his head back up to look him in the eyes.

"It's okay, Howard. Everyone needs some comfort sometimes. Do you want to tell me why you're so upset?"

Howard dimly thinks that this is the most mature he's ever seen Vince be, but that voice deep down reminds him that it's likely due to the fact that this is the most vulnerable he's seen Howard be, so there's probably some correlation there. 

"I…" he starts, and then stops himself. He's terrified to tell Vince the truth, because realising you're in love with your best friend when said best friend is clearly on the pull isn't the most dignified thing in the world. But Vince's kind and non-judgemental gaze tempts him too strongly. "I was upset you went to dance with that man."

"Huh?" Vince says, frowning.

"George. You went to dance with him, and you were so… touchy with him. I was… jealous."

"But you don't like me touching you," Vince says. "You always tell me not to."

"I guess you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone," Howard mumbles, and looks down. He kicks himself internally for the cliché. 

Vince doesn't say anything for a moment, and it's long enough for Howard's self loathing to convince him that he's disgusted by the confession. He's just about to shrug Vince's hands off and crawl shamefully back to his own bed when he feels his chin being lifted again. He gets the briefest glimpse of Vince's eyes before lips meet his own.

The kiss lasts less than a second, and Howard has exactly no time to react before Vince is leaning back again and looking him in the eye. Howard's mouth opens and closes a couple times as he tries to form a question, but fails.

"Alright?" Vince asks, smiling a little. There's a hint of mischief in it, and the familiarity of it snaps Howard back into reality.

"You kissed me," he says.

"I did."

"Why?"

"Because I love you, too, you bumbaclaat," Vince laughs. Howard sputters.

"I-I didn't say I love you!"

"Didn't have to," Vince says smugly. "I'm not as thick as I look. I can read between the lines."

"You can read?" Howard asks, brain and mouth running on autopilot. Vince giggles and shoves him playfully on the shoulder. 

"You don't gotta be jealous, Howard," he says. "Not any more. I won't dance with anyone else."

"I- okay," Howard says. His thoughts are very slowly catching up to current events. 

"And I won't kiss nobody else, either," Vince continues. "So long as you don't. 'Cause I've been waiting for you to say something for ages!"

"Ages?"

" _ Ages _ ."

"Oh," Howard says. 

"And," Vince says, letting that hint of mischief grow into a full-blown cheeky grin. "I intend to  _ do  _ something about all this pent up energy."

Howard doesn't have a chance to respond before Vince has clambered over him and perched himself kneeling in his lap, one leg either side of Howard's hips, and his hands firmly on Howard's shoulders. Howard has no clue where to put his hands as Vince dives in for a kiss, but he does have the wherewithal to respond this time, pushing aside his shock and all thoughts to kiss back with ample enthusiasm. He may not have the experience, but he damn well has the eagerness. 

Vince pulls away for a breath and laughs, but even with Howard's neuroses he can tell it's a laugh born of pure joy and not of derision. 

"You ain't half bad at that, Howard," he says, grinning and shifting slightly. "You been practicing without me knowing?"

"No, sir," Howard says, finally settling on placing his hands on Vince's hips. They feel so tiny under his mammoth Northern palms, but he can feel the strength in the muscles of his thighs as he holds himself above him. 

"Good," Vince says. "'Cause I'd have to kill whoever it was if you had been."

"Mmm," Howard says, glancing down at Vince's lips, which shine faintly in the yellow light of the lamp. Vince smirks and dives back in for more kisses. 

Howard is suddenly extremely aware of the area below his abdomen as Vince runs a hand through his hair and tugs with the slightest pressure. Awareness leads to focus, and Howard is distracted from kissing in his effort to ensure Vince doesn't notice exactly how much said kissing has effected him. 

Vince notices Howard's sudden switch from extremely involved to extremely distracted, and puts two and two together to get 'horny'. He smirks against Howard's lips and deliberately lowers himself down, letting his already hard cock rub against Howard's belly. He loves the sharp gasp it elicits from Howard, but he loves much more the feeling of Howard's own erection pressing up against his arse as he sits lower. Howard breaks the kiss.

"Wait," he says, and Vince slams frozen, looking very seriously into Howard's face. 

For all that he's flushed and breathing heavily, Howard tries to shy away from Vince. Feeling him against his stomach, Howard is hyper aware of the difference in proportions he can already deduce. He knows that he's smaller than average, and he's seen more than he probably should have what with Vince's skin tight jumpsuits. The stark contrast makes him self conscious again. 

"Hey," Vince says quietly, moving Howard's face so their eyes meet again. "Do you want to stop?"

"No, I…" 

"It's okay, Howard. We don't have to."

"I'm just embarrassed," Howard says, closing his eyes. Vince lets out a small, fond chuckle, and rests the palm of his hand against Howard's stubbly cheek. 

"Nothing to be embarrassed about, Howard. I've seen it all before."

"Not… not  _ that _ ," Howard says, emphasising the last word. "I'm not… I'm kind of…"

"I know you're a virgin, Howard," Vince says.

"It's not that," Howard replies, shame filling his cheeks more and more as the seconds go by. "It's that… I'm small."

"Huh?" Vince asks, tipping his head to the side. His hair falls like curtains over his shoulders. "No you're not. You're my big Northern bear."

"I mean, down there," Howard clarifies.

"Oh," Vince says, realisation dawning. He rolls his hips down again to test Howard's assertion. "Oh." He was right. 

"I'm sorry," Howard says.

"Shut  _ up _ , Howard," Vince snarls. He punctuates his point with another grind of his hips. "Who gives a shit if you're small? Plenty of fun stuff you can do with small. Besides," he says, leaning in to whisper into Howard's ear. "I couldn't give a toss what size you are. I'd want to fuck you regardless." 

"Y-yesir," Howard croaks out, hips stuttering. 

"Mmm," Vince hums, leaning back again. "That's what I like to hear." He rubs his cock against Howard's belly again, and Howard resolves to say that more often. "You're beautiful, Howard." 

Vince doesn't let him respond to that with whatever self deprecating objection was bubbling to the surface, and instead surges in for another heated kiss. The scratching of Howard's moustache against his upper lip feels delightful, and Vince is quickly getting worked up rolling his hips against Howard's. He pulls back again.

"Take off your shirt," he says as he clambers to get out of Howard's lap. Howard watches dazed as Vince begins the shuffling struggle to get out of his jumpsuit, but has the brain function reserved to follow orders. He takes the initiative and removes his trousers and socks, too, but leaves his tented pants on - the sight of Vince removing his own is  _ just  _ too distracting. Vince quickly resumes his place on top of Howard, his long cock dripping onto Howard's pants. 

"Alright?" He asks, hips doing aborted little thrusts towards Howard's belly. Howard nods wordlessly. "Reckon you wanna do something about this?" 

A million scenarios run through Howard's head - getting down on the floor and swallowing Vince's cock down his throat, letting Vince lay down on the bed and impaling himself repeatedly on him, bending himself in half to let Vince cover his face in kisses as he shoves himself so far up Howard's arse he feels it for weeks. All of them have his own dick twitching underneath Vince. 

"Yessir," he says, settling on using his hand. He wraps his huge palm around Vince's cock, dragging a groan out of the man above him, and marvels at the sight of his hand not only doing this to Vince, but also doing this to a cock proportionate to his hand. The size and weight of it feels foreign to him in the best of ways, and he feels his cock jump and arse tingle at the thought of it inside him. 

"H-hold on," Vince says, clearly fighting against his instinct to immediately fuck into the warmth of Howard's hand. "Y-you gotta take off your pants."

Howard pauses, unsure, but a quiet mewl from Vince above him reminds him that there's nothing to worry about. Vince will love and want him no matter his size. He wrestles his pants off as Vince lifts himself up over him.

Before Howard can take him in hand again, Vince grabs Howard's cock and rubs his own against it. The friction and feeling of something warm, something other than his own hand, something that is  _ Vince  _ rubbing against him has Howard fucking up and losing control. He comes in spurts over Vince's hand and cock, grasping at any part of Vince he can reach. 

"Fuck," Vince says. He's enraptured by the sight of Howard's cock, almost dwarfed by his own beside it, covering himself and Vince in come. "Nggh," he groans, taking his come-covered hand and spreading it over his own cock, wrapping his hand around it to stroke himself hard and fast. 

Howard comes back to himself to see Vince fucking his own hand in his lap, and the sight is almost enough to have him spouting off again. Instead, he bats Vince's hand away, and wraps his own around his dick. He quickly matches Vince's speed, and Vince flops forward to rest his forehead on Howard's shoulder, staring down at Howard wanking him off. 

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Vince says, biting his lip and fighting the urge to hide his face in Howard's neck, because the sight below is just that much more hot. 

"Shit, Vince," Howard says. "You're right. I love you. Always have, Little Man."

"Nnnnggg," Vince whines, hips fucking to meet Howard's pace. 

"Felt so good, Vince," Howard growls, his cock struggling in his middle age to get hard again so quickly. "You touch me so well. Want you inside me next time, please."

Vince lets go with a high pitched groan, come splattering over Howard's belly and hand. Howard strokes him for longer than he should, after it's too much for Vince and everything is too sensitive and he has to stop Howard's hand himself. He slumps against Howard's huge frame, boneless. 

"Fuck, Howard," he slurs as Howard leans back against the headboard and wraps both arms around him. "For someone who doesn't like being touched, you're fucking genius at touching me." 

Howard chuckles, and it only has a fraction of the self consciousness he normally would be feeling. Turns out touching is considerably more enjoyable than he'd originally thought. 

He may have an issue with sticky in the morning, and he'll  _ definitely _ have a sharp twinge in his back from sitting up with Vince curled into him for so long, but he doesn't have the wherewithal to care. He shuffles them around to lie down, and Vince immediately pulls him down to rest his head on his chest, which is an awkward angle but Howard doesn't care because he can hear Vince's heartbeat. 

"Love you, Howard," Vince says, voice practically dripping with sleep. Howard feels much the same.

"Love you, too, Vince."

He'd take the mundane change in his night over the exciting adventurous one any day, and he knows with a certainty he's never before felt that Vince would, too. 


End file.
